Dad and I spent last night turning the television up too-loud while Hugo and Mum were on the back deck and dancing around the living room in our socks and slippers. We practiced our swing dancing, which wasn’t any better than it had been last time. I had a feeling it wasn’t going to get much better. We’d peaked. He told me when I got married we would swing-dance for our first dance. I told him to sod off.

Not that I would hate it.

I just didn’t want to think about a wedding at seventeen.

We had breakfast in fits of laughter the next day. Even Hugo seemed to be in a good mood when he challenged me to a race on the game console. I played, lost valiantly, and took my supplies outside to paint for a bit. The sun was out and it wasn’t excruciatingly hot, so I welcomed the fresh air.

Mum brought a glass of iced tea and placed it on the table. She paused behind me for a minute, watching me paint.

“You should teach your father to paint,” she said with a knowing smile.

“You don’t like his scribbles? He calls them abstract.”

She snorted. “He’s in such denial,” Mum said. She kissed my shoulder. “What is Scorpius up to today?”

My cheeks colored a little. I wondered how much my parents had discussed my relationship with Scorpius while alone. Probably a lot. I bet Hugo even got into the conversation at times. “I’m not sure,” I replied. “He said he was going to try to spend the day with his parents. He said a Healer was coming in from England today to check on his mum again. One of the specialized ones.”

“I hope it’s good news.” Mum moved around the side of the easel and looked out over the trees to the mountains. “He’s gone through a lot for a boy.”

“That’s quite an impact coming from you.” I chuckled. She had so many stories when I was growing up. I should say, Dad did. Mum was always skeptical of telling us everything they did while in Hogwarts. She felt it would give us the idea that we could disregard authority if we thought it was the correct thing to do.

Maybe it did give me that idea, given my behavior the last couple weeks.

“Well, if he gets too stressed he can always come over for lunch or dinner.” Mum shrugged and straightened the wrinkles out of her shirt. “I’m pretty sure your father is going to tackle the grill tonight. We’ll see how that works out. I have pasta just in case.”

I laughed, switching over to a soft, powdery blue on the canvas. It reminded me of the reflection on the tips of the waves at the lake. “I’ll let you know,” I said, referring to Scorpius. I hadn’t heard from him yet that morning so I figured he’d just stay home and tend to his mother since she was bound to be irritable about being locked away so long. It took a lot of self-control not to run for the owl to tell him to ditch all that and come over.

But he’d do the same.

I painted well into the early afternoon, pausing to eat, replace the iced tea, and slather on more sunscreen. The last thing I needed was my final five days filled with excruciating pain, aloe, and whining.

I finished a painting and started another. This was of the town from memory. I didn’t like painting from memory, but I decided to give it a shot or I’d keep painting the same landscape and trees over and over again. It turned out more impressionistic on the canvas and I stared at it for a while. More blobs of solid color. Less mixing and shading. I liked it.

I sprawled my name along the bottom corner and went inside for dinner.

“Where’d Mum go?” I noticed the car wasn’t in the drive and Dad was adding sauce to the pasta.

“Got a call about something,” Hugo replied. He was being pouty because Dad insisted he stay and eat with the family instead of stalking the raven-haired girl around town again like he had a couple days ago. He didn’t take it very well. You’d think he was older than fifteen. Ick.

I shrugged and plopped down at the table. “Win at your games?”

“Of course I did,” Hugo said irritably. “I was playing against the computer.”

“Thrilling.” Right. The computer. How could I be so daft?

“So what was her name anyway, Hugo?” Dad asked, warming the pot on the stove while he placed a bowl of salad in the center of the table. It had baby tomatoes and carrots in it. “Something wonderful, no doubt.”

“I don’t know,” he snapped. “I was going to find out today.”

“I bet it was Persephone or the like,” I said with a cheeky grin. He kicked me under the table. “Aphrodite. Belle. Beauty.”

“With his luck it would be Rose,” Dad muttered, smirking as he spooned pasta onto our plates. He left some in the pot for Mum. “Could you do that, son? Date a girl with your sister’s name?”

“No. Ew.”

“Cooties,” I said with a laugh and Dad nudged me. He was trying not to humiliate Hugo by laughing, but it was far too late. His shoulders shook in silent giggles. I glanced over my shoulder again. “How long’s Mum going to be gone?”

Dad shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you,” he said. “She asked me to save her some dinner though. That all depends on how hungry I am.” He grinned and sat at the head of the table. “Why? Think her car will be overtaken by the bear monster? Pretty sure the automatic locks will keep it out.”

I shot him a look. “Did she say who called?”

“Nope. Just that she had to go for a bit and to save her some food.” Dad began formally stuffing his face with pasta. Hugo followed suit. For a second, I watched their similar mannerisms.

Thankfully, I acquired my table tact from my mother.

*

The car pulled back in the drive while I was outside enjoying a novel and a glass of lemonade. The evening was cool and the sun was still high enough to read by so I had put up my feet to enjoy the breeze and the summer. It was certainly different from traipsing through the woods.

I heard her footsteps on the deck. “Dad ate the rest of the pasta for dessert,” I called.

“He would,” she muttered, moving around my chair to the one across from me. Mum removed my legs and sat, replacing them on her lap. “We should have a talk.”

My eyes snapped up. That had never preceded positive information.

Mum cleared her throat and took a moment to stuff some of her brown hair behind an ear. The wind blew it out of place and she ignored it a second time. “I was just at the Malfoy’s.”

“And?” I asked, a little too quick. Why had she gone to Scorpius’ without telling me first? I could have gone with her. She probably would have refused, but I could have snuck into the trunk with my wand and spied on what was happening. At the very least!

“Mrs. Malfoy isn’t doing as well as they hoped,” she explained calmly. “I spoke with the Healers and tried to do a few things, but the truth is she just isn’t doing well.”

“Did they figure out exactly what it was? Why isn’t the humidity working like they said it would?” My chest hurt. Everything hurt. I thought about the way Mr. Malfoy must have been reacting to that news. And Scorpius.

“Like they hoped it would,” Mum corrected. She busied herself straightening the cuff at the bottom of my jeans. “She couldn’t get herself to stand today.”

The thought sickened me. Mrs. Malfoy was one of those unique types of women who looked poised in any situation. She was beautiful and lean and elegant, but she didn’t look frightening about it. The idea of her with her hair out of place along a pillow, expression strained, struck a chord with me. It put a horrible taste in my mouth.

Mum cleared her throat and continued. “The Healer spent quite a bit of time with her, but after a while told us it would be best to cut the trip short of the full thirty days and go back to England. They’ll be leaving in the morning. I believe they want Mrs. Malfoy to return to St. Mungos for additional treatment.” She was frowning.

I hated St. Mungos. It was not a place I’d frequented, nor had I had many family members stuck there for long periods of time (Albus when he got his foot stuck in the toilet, cracked open his head trying to get out, and James trying to stitch it up and then Uncle Percy when he had that ulcer). It had this smell to it. Like everything was sad. Polished. It didn’t have a heart. Just blank, white walls with some portraits that spoke in hushed tones.

I imagined Scorpius being ushered into the hall while the Healers spoke to his parents. Sitting on the long, wooden bench with his elbows resting on his thighs, staring at a medical cart or empty wheelchair left in front of him. Alone.

“Can I say goodbye?” I asked, finally letting out a held breath.

“I was going to offer to drive you over,” Mum said, grabbing the keys from her pocket.

*

I damn near jumped out of the car when we pulled into the drive of the Malfoy rental. However, I noticed something was off immediately. It was quiet.

Mum’s car door shut. “They may have gone into town,” she said.

I approached the door, knocking a few times, though it garnered no response. “Do you think Mrs. Malfoy is upstairs?” I asked. “And maybe Scorpius and Mr. Malfoy went to get something?” Even as it came out of my mouth, it rang false.

Mum shrugged. “Let’s check around back, hmm?” She led the way and we moved past the fixed latticework frame and into the yard. She was the first to peer in the back window.

They were gone.

Though the rental furniture was still there, everything of the Malfoy’s was gone including the grill they’d brought with them. The lights were off, the tables were shiny, and there were no dishes in the sink.

Scorpius Malfoy was gone.

*

“D’you think something happened?” Hugo asked. We were in the living room shortly after Mum and I returned from the empty Malfoy house. A few lamps and the muted television lit the dark space. “Like with his mum?”

“I don’t know,” Mum replied with a frown. “She wasn’t doing well when I was there, but they had every intention of leaving tomorrow. I can only guess there was a significant reason for them leaving today.”

There had to have been a significant reason. Scorpius wouldn’t have left without saying good-bye. Would he? Of course not, which just made me worry that it was far more serious than I was letting myself think.

What if something happened to him? And that was why they had to go so suddenly?

Rubbish. There couldn’t be.

I just hated not knowing. Sitting on the overstuffed chair with my knees to my chest with every possible option floating through my head.

Dad brought me a bowl of soft vanilla ice cream. He kissed my head before sitting on the couch with his own bowl. Hugo shot him a look, holding up his empty hands. Dad ignored him.

“I’m sure everything is fine,” Mum said, channel surfing now, though she didn’t turn the volume back up. “If they went to St. Mungos the Healers are more than qualified to handle whatever is thrown at them.”

“Except mystery diseases,” I muttered.

All I could see was Scorpius pacing outside a hospital room, eyes flickering to the thin, rectangular window shielded by vertical shades. He would repeatedly run his fingers through his hair, nerves getting the best of him. The idea of him standing out there alone was enough to dissolve my appetite.

“Where are you headed?” Dad asked, glancing up at my retreating back.

“Anywhere but here,” I said, shoving through the door to the kitchen. I tossed the bowl into the sink and walked out the back door, not stopping as I hopped off the end of the deck and headed into the trees. I didn’t care what was in there.

Let it come. I needed something to release these emotions that were straining my rib cage and making it hard to breathe.

Nothing came. I made it to the lake unscathed and piled wood into a pyramid, lighting it soon after. Then I moved beside it, staring out into the water that reflected the painted sunset.

I hated this. All of it. I hated being here sitting in the sand when I had no idea what was happening to Scorpius or his parents. Something horrible could be happening and I’d have no idea. Instead, I had a good idea of how often fish skimmed the surface of the lake for a snack. Nothing to write home about.

Was it selfish to want him here? I’d only just really realized how I felt about him.

Of course it was selfish.

I didn’t care.

I’d grown used to him accompanying me around the mountains. Making me laugh. Making me angry. Making me want to repeatedly kiss him. Among other things when we went swimming.

It was obvious I fancied him and he said he’d be sitting with me on the train (Dom would get a kick out of that), but now what? What if he wasn’t even on the train because something happened to him? That was why they had to leave early. Or what if something happened to his mum so he emotionally shuts down and avoids everyone? Or if he goes home and Danielle is there to comfort him at St. Mungos and I am a distant summer fling memory.

Ugh.

I really needed to stop thinking.

I scooted a little closer to the fire as the natural light died around me. It felt good, just sitting here, but I was still anxious and nervous. I hated not knowing what was happening.

I wanted to be back on that boat again.

I wanted to convince Scorpius touching a slimy squid wasn’t horrible.

I couldn’t do this. I used my wand to extinguish the fire and headed back in the dark, careful not to trip over and roots on the way. At that point I’d made the walk enough times I didn’t get any new injuries.

My parents were in the kitchen and shot me strange looks, but I moved into the bedroom, looked around for the owl who wasn’t there, and went to sleep.

Day Twenty-Seven

“Rose.”

“I hate you leave me alone.”

“Rose. Get up.”

“Ihateeverythingaboutyouandthatincludesyourvoice.”

I rolled over, tugging the blanket up over my head. The last thing I needed this early was Hugo asking me to help him put the dishes away or if he could have the rest of the orange juice. I didn’t care. Shut up, Hugo.

“Dad said get up.”

“Why isn’t he in here then?” I kicked him off the bed and heard a loud thud as he sailed onto the floor. Gracefully, I was sure. “Go away now, thank you.”

“He’s packing the sodding car,” snapped Hugo. He hoisted himself back onto the bed. “Now get UP.”

“Packing the car for what? I don’t want to go to breakfast.”

He grabbed the blanket and pulled. Damn. “We’re going home.”

“What?” I spun around. “We have three more days here. Dad had that big dinner planned. We were supposed to hunt for berries and do other family things.”

Hugo shrugged. He was fully dressed and it had to be eight in the morning by the sun coming in. “The place is packed. We have to drive down to give them the keys back and then we’re going home. So get the hell up.”

“Me? You’ve been sitting in front of the television bitching about the lack of girls in bikinis to follow around,” I snapped back.

“Yes, well, that’s a legitimate concern.” Hugo shrugged and pulled open the door. “I think Mum and Dad are a bit concerned.”

“Concerned?”

“About your sodding mental health. Get UP. Let’s GO. Maybe they’ll give me some money to hang out in London instead of go to St. Mungos.”

“We’re going to St. Mungos?” I asked.

“How did you even make it to your seventh year?” Hugo shouted, slamming the door behind him.

Whoa.

I pulled on some clothes, shoved all my things into bags, and shrunk the easels. Once everything was zipped, I tugged it into the pristine kitchen. Everything had been cleaned and scrubbed and left in the condition we found it in. The back door was open and a bag of trash was on the deck.

“Ready, chicken nugget?” Dad asked, patting my shoulder as he moved past me. He was carrying a large suitcase with floral print.

“I don’t understand,” was all I got out.

He chuckled and walked out back. “You didn’t get enough sleep. Hugo is catching on faster than you.”

“I’m catching on!” I said, following him with my bags. It was another hot, muggy day and my hair was not treating me well. “I just don’t understand!”

Dad shot a confused glance over his shoulder and moved down the steps toward the car. The trunk was open, so he just shoved the suitcase inside. “Isn’t your nose always in a book?”

“Sure.” I shrugged and threw my bags in the car.

“Then imagine a story where the girl is sad and dumpy-looking for the last three days of vacation because her parents are so attached to being out of the country,” Dad said. “Then imagine that girl has no idea what’s happening to this boy she fancies, Godric knows why, or that boy’s family. I don’t think you’d finish that book, do you?”

“Of course I would.” I crossed my arms stubbornly. “Because it would work out eventually.”

He laughed and kissed my head. “Do you have everything? Your mum is getting the rest of the clothes from upstairs. I have no idea why she brought that much. The most we did was get it soaked in sweat from being outside or go to dinner in town.”

“We’re girls.” I smiled, especially since I’d wished on more than one occasion I brought more clothes than I did.

Case and point: kittens.

*

The doors were locked and I took a moment to look out at the skyline from the back deck, admiring the colors I’d painted on several occasions that month. It was beautiful and though we had trees in England, it was definitely an entirely different experience. Not that my body would miss the humidity and constant heat. Clouds began to roll in just as we pulled out of the drive and halfway down the mountain it began to rain. Dad took a different route and passed through the tiny town, buying Hugo and me ice cream cones. My eyes strayed to the art gallery.

Hmm.

“I’ll be right back.” I grabbed the umbrella and opened it as I popped the trunk.

“What’re you doing?” Hugo was holding both cones. And eating from both. Thanks.

“I just need to do something.” I grabbed three paintings, keeping the best from the back deck on top. The one with the sunset reflecting off the trees. Then I checked for cars and dashed across the road and into the shop. “Leonard?”

The man poked his head out from the door at the back of the shop. “Hello!” he said. “Here to analyze more beautiful brush strokes?”

“Erm, not exactly.” My face went a little red. “I had a question.”

“You have paintings!” he said, hurriedly closing the distance between us. “Look at your modesty! Let me see them.” He all but snatched them from me and took a few steps back, holding them out again against his belly. “Oh!”

I wasn’t sure what that meant. I wished it was lighter in there. At least I wished I didn’t feel so awkward just standing, fiddling with my fingers while he looked over my work. My paintings. The canvases I’d poured so many emotions into.

He was still quiet.

Why was he being so quiet?

I began to rock back and forth on the balls of my feet. My parents were probably waiting rather impatiently. My ice cream would be melted.

I cleared my throat.

“So tell me,” Leonard said. “Why did you bring these in?”

I faltered. I hadn’t exactly thought that part through. I thought he would be able to tell me that. I’d walk in, he’d explain why I was there.

“I’ll take these two.” He held my painting of the sunset from the date and another from the back deck of the view.

“What?” I choked.

“I’ll take them,” Leonard replied. “Of course I’ll need you to fill out a form with your information. Artists get seventy percent to my thirty to keep the shop open and functioning.”

I stared. “What?” I repeated.

“The forms are on my podium over there.” Leonard pointed in a haphazard way. “I’m thinking two hundred for this one and three for this one.” He was already holding them against empty spaces on the wall, tilting his head to each side. Then he looked back toward me. “Are you going to fill out the form or did you just come in here to show me you could paint?”

I shook my head, still dumbfounded. “No – okay, yeah!” I hurried to the podium and flipped on the small desk lamp, locating the forms immediately. It was just a bunch of nonsense. Name. Address. Date of birth. My scribbles were barely legible.

Leonard placed each of the two paintings on the floor against the wall where they would hang. His shoes clicked against the hardwood floor as he made his way back to the podium. “It was a pleasure doing business with you,” he said when I signed the bottom.

I shook his hand and scooped up the other few paintings, moving back into the drizzly rain. I didn’t bother opening the umbrella.

“What were you doing?” Dad shouted out the cracked window as I quickly crossed the street, placed the paintings back in the trunk, and climbed in beside Hugo. As predicted, my cone was gone. It hadn’t melted, though. He shot me a guilty look.

“What I should have done a while ago.” I buckled my seatbelt and settled in as the car took us to the owner’s house at the bottom of the mountain.

For as concerned as I was, I couldn’t stop smiling.

*

The house hadn’t changed in a month. Not that I expected it to. I walked in the door, bag dragging behind me, and flopped on the couch. I had to do side-along Apparation since I still wasn’t good enough to go overseas and Hugo wasn’t of age yet anyway, so it took a lot out of me.

“Your grandmum’s been here to water the plants,” Mum said, examining the leafy greens we had in terra cotta pots flanking the television.

Hugo immediately shoved my feet over and turned it on. “I’m going into the village today,” he announced.

“It’ll be getting late soon.” Mum motioned to the window. “You should probably just stay home and play board games with your father and I.” She was grinning.

Dad nodded. “Yeah. Actually, I have a good puzzle we could do.”

“I hate puzzles!” Hugo cried. “I am not doing a sodding puzzle!”

Yeah, like Dad would be caught dead doing a puzzle.

“But it has a girl on it,” Dad said, his lips shaking as he tried not to laugh.

“It’s probably a baby or something stupid!” Hugo whined. “Then I’m going to see Louis or something. I’m not staying in here. You can’t trap me!”

Dad looked around. “He says it like we’re keeping him in a cage,” he replied. “I think this place is rather roomy, don’t you, turkey?”

I nodded. “The roomiest of cages,” I said, burying my face into the pillow.

Mum nudged me. “You need some dinner before you leave?”

I shook my head. The hospital would have something to eat. Truth was, my stomach was in so many knots I knew I wouldn’t be able to get anything down. I was dreading what I might find. I had wanted to try Scorpius’ house first, but then I kindly reminded myself he never told me where he lived.

“She gets to go!” Hugo cried.

“Go read a book,” Dad muttered. He kissed my head and then retreated into the kitchen.

Probably to pour himself a large brandy.

Hugo made a disgruntled noise and stomped up the staircase to the left. Then he slammed his bedroom door. You know, for good measure.

What a sod.

“You think he’ll grow out of that?” Mum asked.

“I hope so,” I grumbled. “No girl in her right mind will have him.”

I considered going to my room and getting a few things. I probably should have, but the couch was comfortable. One of my favorite parts about the house, really. Big, plush, and cozy. I rolled onto my side. The room was a neutral beige with pops of blues on pillows and picture frames. A large gold frame hung over the fireplace to the right with our family portrait from a few years ago before Hugo started looking surly and uncomfortable each year.

“How are you getting to the hospital?” Mum asked, breaking into the silence.

“Figured I’d Floo,” I replied. “It’s easier.” Only it wasn’t. I just didn’t trust myself to Apparate right now. Not when my legs felt like jelly.

“Need anything?” she asked.

I shook my head. I needed a lot.

“Owl if you need something, okay?” Mum said, smoothing some hair away from my face. “Or if you need some company.” She smiled a little.

“Thanks.”

Once she left the room, I sat up, elbows on my knees. I just had to get to St. Mungos and find Scorpius’ mum and I would surely find him there. Unless they were already back home.

One step at a time.

I took a deep breath, threw my purse over my shoulder, and flicked my wand to create a roaring fire in the hearth. The warmth felt good, but I drove it out of my mind and tossed a handful of Floo Powder in.

“St. Mungos!” I said and stepped into the flames.

*

Hospitals didn’t make me uncomfortable like they did some people, though I still wasn’t their biggest fan. The walls of the lobby were painfully white and plain. The main waiting room seats were an ivory plastic. I passed several people with injuries, one spouting steam from his ears.

The line for the information desk was long and each clerk looked bored. One was popping her gum. My fingers kept clutching at the bottom of my shirt, twisting the fabric.

“Hi,” I said, leaning against the counter once it was my turn. The man in front of me was in navy scrubs. “I’m here to see a patient. Or who I think may be a patient.” My cheeks colored.

“Can I have the name of the person you think may be a patient?” he asked, bored.

“Astoria Malfoy.” I swallowed hard. I didn’t want her to be here, but I also didn’t exactly want to have to traipse all over England trying to find Scorpius’ house.

The man pursed his lips to one side, scrolling through the system before him. He typed a couple things, silent.

Come on. Come on. What are you even doing on that computer?

Probably looking at funny videos of cats.

At last, he took a breath. “We don’t have a patient in house under the name of Astoria Malfoy.”

“Damn.” Great. Well, at least I knew she wasn’t in the hospital. I just had to figure out where they lived so I could see Scorpius. Maybe Albus would know. He had to do Prefect rubbish with Scorpius.

“Miss?”

I turned back to the guy, who had his arm raised toward me. “Hmm?”

“We have a patient under the name of Scorpius Malfoy,” he said. “Any relation?”

I stared, heart sinking into my stomach. “What?” I breathed.

“Scorpius Malfoy.”

He was in the hospital. Scorpius was in the hospital.

“Room number,” I barely got out.

“Are you of some relation?” the man asked. “Generally we are only supposed to let relatives up since it’s after visiting hours.”

“I’m his girlfriend,” I said quickly.

He made a face that suggested he really wasn’t supposed to be letting me up, but then sighed. “Two-ten.”

Everything was spinning. I was running before I knew it and three Healers scolded me for it. I didn’t stop. I took the stairs three at a time and threw open the heavy door. I dodged carts in the hallway and snarky remarks from portraits.

I couldn’t breathe.

Two hundred one.

Two hundred three.

Two hundred five.

Another Healer scolded me for running in the halls. A patient stepped back into his room, hands around a bar with some liquid packages connected.

Two hundred seven.

Two hundred eight.

Two hundred nine.

My shoes squealed to a stop just before the tenth door, the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy on the bench outside of the room snapping me out of my fearful trance. His hands were folded in his lap, suit a little wrinkled. Mrs. Malfoy was in a pristine grey dress, but the collar was at an odd angle. Their hair wasn’t tamed.

Both spotted me immediately. Probably because I wasn’t exactly being quiet running down the corridor.

“They –” I tried to catch my breath. Running was not my best life decision. “At the desk – said Scorpius – Two-ten.” I leaned forward, fingers wrapped around my knees.

Please let him be okay.

“He’s not awake right now,” Mrs. Malfoy said calmly. Her eyes were red and puffy.

“What happened?” I asked.

Please let him be okay.

Her lips pressed together like she was smearing lipstick. “We don’t exactly know,” she replied. “We found him unconscious after falling down the stairs. He’s been in and out of surgery all day.”

I blinked, stunned. I wanted to ask a thousand questions. How had he fallen down the stairs? Was it just that? If it was just him falling down the stairs, he wouldn’t have been in the hospital this long, right? Unless it was a brain injury. Right? Godric, what if Scorpius had a brain injury? What if he wasn’t okay?

“Can I go in?” I stammered.

Mr. Malfoy was quiet, but nodded. “If you would like to.”

Of course I bloody would.

I pulled open the door and stepped into the semi-darkness. The room had a narrow hallway (a bathroom was to the left) and it opened into a small room with a dresser, television, two beside stands, and a bed in the center. There was a window on the far wall, but the shades were pulled.

Scorpius was unconscious on the bed. The blankets were over his middle, hands on either side of him, just over the fabric. His lips were parted ever so slightly and his hair was messy.

My heart was breaking. Tubes were coming out of his arms. Any sun he’d gotten in the mountains was gone.

And then I was crying. I had no idea why, but standing at the foot of a hospital bed watching the boy I fancied sleep away these drugs was enough to just send me over the edge. I attempted to wipe them away before finally just letting it go, sinking down into the armchair to Scorpius’ left.

I curled my legs up to my chest and focused my blurry eyes on his face. He looked calm. It reminded me of when he fell asleep on my leg, fingers curled around my thigh.